


It Lies in Wait, My Trust in You

by sdanver



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, actual character development, i can't remember which came first, it bears some resemblance to the show, rewritten finale, there's a sword in a stone, this is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdanver/pseuds/sdanver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you continue to see the world in such stark black and white, if you continue to fight better than you listen, Camelot will crumble. I cannot live here and watch you murder the innocent. And I cannot fight you. So I’m…” again, Merlin paused, swallowing hard against the thing clawing to get out of his throat. </p>
<p>“I’m leaving. Ealdor is still outside your purview, right? Or must I too live without my mother for risk of you murdering her for harboring a sorcerer?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Lies in Wait, My Trust in You

For a while, they were able to continue on as usual. Nothing was quite the same anymore – Arthur was king. He had legions of manservants at his disposal now, but he only used them when he couldn’t find Merlin. And perhaps that happened more and more often those days, the unexplained bruises, absences, glares. And perhaps Arthur found it a little strange, but he made no comment. The abrupt change in leadership had been unsettling for everyone. 

The marriage of Arthur and Guinevere comes shockingly and surprisingly to no one. It was a bright and sunny day, perfect in its benediction upon the happy couple. There was music and laughter and debauchery. Merlin smiled; his joy in their happiness nearly as palpable as it was on the day of Arthur’s coronation. Sometimes, Merlin was able to see the triumph, the hope, the possibility in their futures – able to see it unclouded and inevitable. 

When Arthur went looking for Merlin the next day, and found him sitting quietly in a corner of Gaius’s chambers, staring immovably at the wall in front of him, he tries to think nothing of it. Sometimes Merlin couldn’t see anything but a future of lies and death and great tall fires consuming screams. Most of the time, however, he was able to find a balance. Keeping his hope fettered, but alive. 

Until one day, a little over a month after Arthur’s coronation, when one sentence, one vicious and irrational sentence, shattered everything that Merlin had been so precariously holding on to. 

“This sorceress will be executed at dawn,” said King Arthur, his face hard and impassable as he passed judgment on the mother whose hedge magic had been used to grow the crops of anyone in her village. The silent tension in the court was thick and burdensome. And so when the King returned to his chambers, he wanted nothing more than silent camaraderie. Perhaps a little extra care from his manservant since, though necessary, his actions had been unsettling and distasteful. 

Instead, when he entered his room, he saw Merlin standing in the center of it, a backpack in one hand and a sheepish, twisted smile on his face. 

“I will not stand by and watch you execute good, innocent people because of your irrational belief in the evils of magic.” Merlin said, before Arthur could utter a word, could do much more than gape like a fish out of water. 

“What is the meaning of this, Merlin?” He hadn’t meant to sound so rough, so demanding and angry. 

Rather than answering his question as he always did, with an impertinent smirk and a wry joke, Merlin simply looked at the glowing embers in the fireplace. He said a strange, curling word. His eyes glowed gold. The fire flared up, crackling and hearty as though it had been burning for hours. The king had his sword out and the point resting on Merlin’s chest before he had even really stopped to consider the matter. 

“How long have you been lying in wait?” Arthur hissed. “How long have you been conspiring with them?” The grief for his father, the familiarity of the old sorcerer’s eyes sat like bile in his stomach. 

There was a flash of hurt, of fear, of love and then it was gone, replaced by raw power and bitter disappointment and exasperation. 

With a flick of Merlin’s hand, Arthur’s sword was across the room. Arthur lets loose a yell of rage and then he was pinned to the wall by an invisible force, his feet hanging loosely in the air. He looked down on Merlin and found himself unable to speak. 

“Just listen for a moment, Arthur, before you go around stabbing people who don’t deserve it.” Merlin’s voice was bitter. He kept his volume low but his words seemed to reverberate around the room. “I’ve been here, a sorcerer this whole time, waiting for you to finally get it. Waiting for you to finally see that magic is just a tool, used by good people and bad people as much as you use your sword to defend the kingdom and bandits uses theirs to murder. I’ve lived a lie for years, believing that one day you would be a better King than your father.” 

Merlin paused, scanning Arthur’s face for a change in expression, for a softening of features, for even a glimmer of understanding. When he didn’t find it, he screwed up his eyes for a moment in a grimace of pain before plowing on. 

“All of my magic, all of my power has been for you. I have saved your life countless times. I know your destiny. If you continue to see the world in such stark black and white, if you continue to fight better than you listen, Camelot will crumble. I cannot live here and watch you murder the innocent. And I cannot fight you. So I’m…” again, Merlin paused, swallowing hard against the thing clawing to get out of his throat. 

“I’m leaving. Ealdor is still outside your purview, right? Or must I too live without my mother for risk of you murdering her for harboring a sorcerer?” 

But Merlin did not wait for an answer. Instead, he lowered his hand, allowing Arthur to slump to the floor on all fours. 

“Get out,” Arthur growled. He was breathing heavily, his voice raw and scratched and brutal. But Merlin was already out the door, pack slung over his shoulder and stiff grief in his gait. 

For a moment Arthur sat there, panting in the dancing firelight, unsure whether he wanted to sob or rage, to kill Merlin or to beg him to come back. 

Gwen found him later, sitting amongst the destruction of his room, light playing off the tear tracks on his face. She knelt down beside him. 

“I saw Merlin leaving through the main gate,” she said quietly. “What happened?” 

Arthur didn’t answer for a few minutes. Instead he sat there, staring at his knees, his fingers gripping his legs with white-knuckled desperation. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and dry. 

“He’s a sorcerer. I’ve banished him.” He should have expected Gwen to sit back on her heels, to pull away from him with a closed off expression. But he didn’t, and he felt the pull of it against him. 

“Arthur.” 

Arthur took a deep breath. Even to his own ears it sounded like a dry sob. 

“Arthur.” Gwen said again, but she pulled even farther away. 

“Tell the guards to stay the execution. And have someone bring the witch a piece of bread or something.” 

And Gwen obeyed him immediately. Not because she used to be a servant, and not because now she is his wife, but because she did not want to give him the opportunity to change his mind. And she knew that he would rather not be seen for a while. 

For a week, the sorceress was brought before Arthur, in the privacy of just himself and his knights and his queen. For a week he made her explain intimately the manner in which she used her spells, how she came to know them and why she used them. For a week, he stayed her execution 24 hours at a time, fed her on bread and water and spent lonely nights in a bed which Gwen would not visit. 

His new manservant was attentive, quiet and proper. He did not make wry jokes or smirk when Arthur tripped. He didn’t throw anything at the King and he didn’t prompt anything to be thrown at him. Most tasks were completed without Arthur mentioning them at all. When he did need to ask for something, the boy apologized for not having thought of it sooner. When Arthur finally released the witch (secretly, in the dead of night, with her promise to never get caught again) Gwen came back to bed under the silent agreement that she never mention Merlin, ever. 

The peace lasted for another two weeks. It was quiet and solemn and sour. Arthur had never felt so lonely. His knights have never been so reluctant or sluggish. He heard not a word from Gwaine – not in jest nor fear nor anger. But Gwaine swore his oath to Camelot and not to Merlin and so he showed up every day with all of Arthur’s other bitter, honorable men. 

It was three weeks to the hour when Arthur finally let himself cave, let himself whisper quietly into the darkness to Gwen – “I miss him.” 

Gwen didn’t answer. But that was only because Arthur already knew what she was going to say. Well then do something about it, you great prat. 

He took Gwaine with him to Ealdor. Gwaine, who refused to speak to him even now that he was going to get Merlin back, would probably refuse to speak to him until Merlin told him he should just get over it. 

“He’s no longer here,” Hunith said quietly. She had accepted Arthur back into her home reservedly, keeping a cool distance until Arthur asked quietly if he might see Merlin. 

“What do you mean?” Arthur demanded. Gwaine, too, had snapped his head up in concern. “Where is he? Is alive?” 

“He didn’t tell me where he was going, only that he needed to go and that he would come back and see me soon.” Hunith sounded remarkably calm for someone who didn’t know where her son was. But, as Arthur kept forgetting, it wasn’t as though Merlin couldn’t take care of himself. 

They left Ealdor on the same day they arrived, hoping to avoid any fanfare. For someone who had been so consumed by grief and fear and loneliness for the past two months, Arthur was very quiet. 

“We’ll see him again, Your Majesty,” Gwaine said quietly as they made camp for the night, but he sounded uncertain. Nothing about Camelot was turning out quite the Gwaine had always meant it to be. Arthur felt the darkness, the waiting, the inevitable patience settle in around him. The part of himself that would always wait for Merlin detached itself, settled in the knots in his shoulders and his stomach. There was naught for it now but to be a better King than his father and hope that where ever Merlin was, he would notice. 

As soon as he returned to Camelot, he repealed the ban on magic. He sent heralds from village to village to make sure that each one of his subjects knew that they were now safe and valued and allowed to live honest lives. He made sure that each one of his heralds had Merlin’s description. He sent gifts to the woman whom he had imprisoned earlier in the year. He listened to their stories when they returned – tales of a magician so great and a sword in a stone that would choose Camelot’s true king. 

He wondered, no he knew, why every day felt so very long. 

Epilogue – one year later 

It had been a vain and fruitless expedition from the start. Whomever the bandits were, they were long gone by now, disbanded or murdered or off to pillage and burn some other poor village. The king and his knights were feeling the futility of it all, the deadly frustration at never being able to prevent, only to avenge. 

The woods were quiet but for the tramping of their horses’ feet, the occasional snapping of branches and vengeful cursing. The dappled sunlight tripped lightly over the grass and the underbrush as a light breeze made the overhanging branches sway. It would have been a beautiful day but for the loss of justice, murderous men and dead children. Arthur trailed behind the rest. Normally they gathered around him, forming a guard. But glares from their King today kept them moving ahead, pretending not to notice as he got farther and farther behind.   
There was a clearing nearby, Arthur knew, with a stream and a rock, and he could probably sit there for a little while, just to catch his breath, to let the ache in his chest ease a little. He veered off the path a little, waving Percy on ahead, knowing that that he’s been caught; his knights will surround him, out of sight but not shouting range. He tied his horse to a tree and made his way toward the clearing. He pushed aside a branch, stepped out into the sunlight, and stopped dead. 

Merlin was leaning against the rock, in the middle of the clearing, a wry, hesitant smile on his face. There was something taller, fuller about him even though he was as slight as ever. For a moment, Arthur felt as though they were back in his room. He could see echoes of the pain, the disappointment, the acerbic, fleeting hatred on Merlin’s face. Arthur walked forward unsteadily, his eyes skittering over the way Merlin tensed, still leaning against the rock, but in one hard, solid line. 

When Arthur reached him, he took Merlin’s hand and fell to his knees. 

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, quietly. But he didn’t pull Arthur back to his feet. “Arthur, what are you doing?” 

Arthur rested his forehead against the hand he was holding. Took a deep breath. The words had been fighting to get away from him for so long, there was no reason why they should be so hard to say now. 

“Merlin,” he said softly, finally. He took a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.” It was simple as far as apologies went, simple in comparison to the fire and the ax and the screams Merlin must have lived with everyday. But his tone is so weighted, so serious and sad. He thought maybe Merlin could hear the torment of a year of waiting, because he finally gave Arthur’s hand a sharp tug, pulling him to his feet. 

“All is forgiven, was forgiven ages ago,” he said when Arthur was standing. 

“Then why didn’t you come back?” 

A pained look crossed Merlin’s face and then disappeared. “I needed to learn to control my magic. I needed to give you time.” 

Arthur took a deep breath. And then another. He stepped back, allowing himself to take in all of Merlin for a moment. Once reassured that his friend was really there, alive and unharmed, the tension he had carried for the past year eased out of him like water. He grinned. 

“How did you know I would be here?” he asked. 

Merlin looked surprised for a moment and then winked. “Magic.” And to both of their relief, Arthur laughed. “I brought you something,” Merlin said, when they had quieted down. “Or rather, brought you to something.” 

And it was only then that Arthur noticed the sword. 

“I thought this was all just rumor mongering by my opponents,” Arthur muttered as he examined the blade. “No one has been able to retrieve it?” 

“No one else is the true king of Camelot,” Merlin responded, wryly. Arthur glanced at him. “Go on, give it a pull.” 

And so Arthur did. Only once the sword had glided smoothly from the stone did Arthur turn to face Merlin, just soon enough to see the gold glow fade from his eyes. 

“That’s cheating, I think,” Arthur said lightly as he tested the weight of the blade, before swinging it in a high arc over his head. 

“It never hurts to have a little legend on your side.” 

“More than a little, I would guess,” Arthur corrected. “Your feats are known the kingdom over.” 

“It’s been a long year,” Merlin sighed. Though the sentiment was meant to be humorous but the expression on his face was pensive. For a moment he and Arthur just looked at each other. 

“Can we come out now?” Gwaine yelled, breaking the silence. “Or do you two lovebirds need another moment.” 

Merlin burst out laughing. 

“Better not let Gwen hear you make those jokes, Gwaine,” Arthur admonished as his knights made their way into the clearing. “Or she’ll send you out for lavender again. You smelled like a girl for weeks.” 

“Hardy har har,” Gwaine muttered as the others laughed. He clapped Merlin on the back. “Good to see you, old friend.” 

Merlin returned the gesture, glancing around the circle. There was a familiar tightening in his throat and his eyes as he said. “You too. It’s good to see you all.”


End file.
